


I'll keep it (our secret)

by Estelle (Fielding)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode: s07e03 Pimemento, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fielding/pseuds/Estelle
Summary: Jake agrees it's best they don't tell Charles they're trying. It's just really, really hard. Takes place during Pimemento.
Relationships: Charles Boyle & Jake Peralta, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

The morning after their first foray into baby-making sex, Jake is sitting at his desk when a woman walks into the precinct holding a baby on her hip and weirdly, his first thought is, ‘That was fast.’

It’s followed immediately by his second thought, which is that the baby, of course, is not his.

“Can I help you?” Jake says to the woman.

“Someone broke into my apartment last night,” the woman says, and then bursts into tears.

Jake’s not bad with people who are crying; he’s not great with them either. But the bullpen is currently empty of detectives other than Hitchcock and Scully, who appear to be playing cat’s cradle with their toes, so he leads the woman to the chair by his own desk and waits for her to calm down enough to tell him more. He gets why the woman is freaked out -- she woke up this morning to find her living room in disarray, her TV and laptop and purse all gone -- but it’s a relatively boring case. When he’s done getting the basics, the woman -- her name is Caroline Wu -- dabs at her eyes and sniffles dramatically.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, it’s just my wife is out of town and this is my first time alone with the baby,” Ms. Wu says, gesturing to the kid on her lap. He has black hair that sticks up straight all over, like a cartoon character who’s just been shocked, and he’s been drooling steadily for the past half hour.

“It’s okay,” Jake says. “We’ll take care of this.”

The woman gives him a weak, watery smile and rubs at her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen and her cheeks are a splotchy pink and he feels bad for noticing that she’s kind of a wreck. He feels worse when she sighs and says, “I’m such a mess. Is there a bathroom I can use?”

“Yeah, down the hall,” Jake says, and nods in the right direction.

The woman stands, shuffling the baby back onto her hip, and then she bites her lip and shuffles her feet before saying, “I hate to ask, but- would you mind holding my son? I’ll just be a minute.”

Jake feels himself go wide-eyed for a moment, then shakes himself and says, “Sure, yeah, here,” and holds his hands up for the baby. Ms. Wu passes him over and thanks Jake and heads down the hall, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.

The baby is heavy in his arms, and Jake sets him on his knee and bounces him a little. The kid could be three months old or three years, Jake honestly has no clue. He blinks up at Jake, looking totally unbothered to be left here without his mom, and Jake wonders if it’s too early for a “stranger danger” conversation.

“Can you talk?” Jake says to the baby. The baby drools. “Okay, well. I’m Jake. I guess you can’t tell me your name.”

He’s held babies before, of course: Ava and Iggy, Amy’s niece Dolores and her nephew Reggie, Cagney and Lacey, though not when they were this small. He’s never really noticed before how warm babies are, and how sturdy. This baby’s eyes are so brown they’re almost black, and he’s looking at Jake like he can see straight into his soul (and hasn’t yet made up his mind about whether he likes what he sees).

The baby jams a fist in his mouth, and in the same instant he grabs for the badge around Jake’s neck and yanks, hard. Jake lurches forward in his chair and throws his arms around the baby to keep him from slipping off his knee to the floor, and that’s when he hears the shutter-click of an iphone camera and looks up into the gleeful face of Charles.

“This is so beautiful,” says Charles, who may or may not be crying. “I’m sending it to Amy.”

Jake hears the “swoosh” of a sent message, and less than a minute after that his own phone vibrates on his desk. Jake shuffles the baby to his other knee so he can pick up the phone. It’s a text from Amy, all caps: DO NOT TELL HIM.

Jake sighs and sets his phone face-down on his desk. The baby has stuffed Jake’s badge in his mouth, and Charles is still taking photos. This is going to be impossible.

+++

It’s not like Jake actually tells Charles _everything_. He kept the proposal a secret -- never even let on that he was buying the ring. He doesn’t talk about his sex life (it’s too private, and Charles’ brain and/or heart couldn’t take it anyway), or about how sometimes Amy’s tendency to schedule every minute of their shared days off makes him want to burn her special weekend binders (just a little burning -- like a light char).

But this feels different. A baby -- that’s such a huge step, and Jake’s excited, his whole body practically thrumming with a nervous, joyful anticipation, but he’s still scared, too. And now that they’re committed to this, like actually having the unprotected baby-making sex (and oh god, Amy could be pregnant _right now_ ), Jake doesn’t want to lay all his fears on Amy. She needs him to be all in, and he _is_ all in, he truly is, but it’s possible to be all in and also terrified, he’s realizing, because that’s where he’s at.

He can’t even articulate to himself what he’s scared of, exactly. He knows by now that he won’t be his dad, that he would never abandon Amy or their child and that he’ll always do his very best. But what if his best still isn’t good enough? What if he lets them down in some way he can’t even begin to imagine right now, because he never had a dad to let him down (other than the obvious let-down of total abandonment -- but aside from that)? Jake doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know about being a good father. 

Charles would say, ‘You’re Jake, any baby you father is going to be the luckiest baby in the world.’ And then he’d say, ‘You’re going to be top ten, maybe top five dads of all time, like probably not better than Mufasa or Full House’s Danny Tanner, but right up there.’ And then things would start to get weird and Charles would talk about how he wishes Jake was his father, and Jake would have to hang up on him or walk away or whatever, but the other stuff? Jake kind of really wants to hear that right now. He wants Charles’ uncomplicated, unrelenting confidence in all things Jake.

+++

“You can tell Charles if you really want to,” Amy says that night, after their second round of baby-making sex of the evening.

Jake’s feeling pretty spent as the sweat cools on his face and chest, and he idly winds his fingers through Amy’s hair. She’s tucked up against him, her head on his shoulder, and he can feel her heart still beating fast.

“Are you really talking about Charles?” Jake says, and Amy chuckles.

“I was thinking about how right now one of your little sperms might be swimming to my egg and this could be it,” Amy says, and Jake feels a nervous, happy flutter in his belly. “And then I realized that was exactly the kind of thing Charles would be thinking about, which, by the way, is why we’re not telling him. But he’s your best friend, and-”

“Ames, you’re my best friend,” Jake says, and pulls her closer to him. “It’s fine if we keep this just between us.”

“And Rosa,” Amy says.

“And- You told Rosa?” Jake sits up a little, and Amy rolls onto her back and gives him a sheepish half-smile.

“I’d told her when I thought I might be pregnant. You were dealing with the manhunt and I was freaking out a little and I needed her help,” Amy says. “And then the next day she asked how you’d taken it and I kind of just- told her we were trying. I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jake says quickly, leaning over to kiss her briefly. “At least we know Rosa won’t tell anyone, ever.”

Whereas Charles -- well. “I just don’t want everyone to know,” Amy says. “We don’t know how long this will take, or if there might even be problems along the way. And if we tell Charles you know he’ll start bringing in some kind of animal placenta soup and trust me, there will be plenty of time for morning sickness later, I don’t need the nausea now.”

“I get it, babe,” Jake says. He lies back down alongside her, and this time he rests his head on her shoulder, and he traces his fingers over her flat stomach. “Just us. And Rosa.”

Amy laughs, and Jake feels it under his fingers and imagines a baby there. He lays his palm over her skin and concentrates.

“I love you,” Amy says.

“Love you too.”

+++

The next morning Jake gets a call from Terry before Amy’s first alarm has even gone off. He’s got a suspected kidnapping case, and he needs Jake and Charles at the scene ASAP.

“Please tell me this is kicking your paternal instinct into overdrive,” Charles says, as soon as they’ve walked into La Petite Bebe daycare center, where a dozen children of various sizes, shapes and colors are toddling and squatting and crying and chewing on things.

Jake hisses, “Not now, Charles,” and squares his shoulders as a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail rushes toward them and introduces herself as Lena, the owner of the daycare.

One of the children has gone missing, Lena says, and shows them the ledger where she keeps track of drop-offs. She points out the name of the 5-month-old who was delivered by her father that morning at 6 a.m. and is now nowhere to be found.

“Could she have left on her own?” Jake says.

Lena stares at him, and Jake feels his cheeks start to burn. “She’s 5 months old,” she repeats. “She can’t even crawl yet.”

“So, no,” Jake says.

Lena leads them to a sofa where they can talk while her aide watches the remaining kids. She gives them a description of the baby: short brown hair, blue eyes, wearing pink leggings and a white onesie printed with “Welcome to the Shit Show” (“I don’t dress them,” Lena adds quickly). The parents are married and don’t seem to have any conflict. She’s called them both and left messages but they haven’t replied yet -- they don’t know their child is missing.

Charles takes notes and Jake is doing a fine job of not getting distracted by the total chaos around them, until a small child suddenly crawls right up to him, uses his knee to leverage herself to her feet, and makes a grab for his badge. She’s shoved it in her mouth before Jake can figure out what he’s supposed to do. 

Lena sighs and picks up the child, who wails when Jake’s badge slips out of her mouth.

“Sorry about that,” she says.

“It’s okay. I haven’t even cleaned it since the last one,” Jake says.

Five minutes later, the mother calls and tells Lena there was a miscommunication with her husband -- little Leslie wasn’t supposed to go to daycare at all that day, so they came by and picked her up and took her home and oops, forgot to tell anyone. She’s sorry for the inconvenience.

“Parents,” Lena says, shoulders slumping with relief or exhaustion, or both.

“Quick question,” Charles says, eyes darting to Jake and then back to Lena, “do you have a waiting list? And would it be presumptive to get on that waiting list before the child has been conceived?”

Jake stands up so quickly he pulls a small muscle in his back, and yanks Charles to his feet.

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” he says and hauls them both out the door.

+++

They get sent to a kid’s first birthday party in the afternoon, after a man who had been stabbed multiple times stumbled into the parents’ Greenpoint backyard. Fortunately none of the babies saw anything.

“You have to feel like the universe is sending you a message,” Charles says, after the paramedics have hauled the man away. He and Jake are following a blood trail, which starts at the sidewalk in front of the house and ends just beneath the pinata strung to a tree branch. Jake’s pretty sure 1-year-olds are too young to be swinging bats at pinatas, but he’s not a dad (yet), what does he know?

Jake takes off his sunglasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He does actually feel like the universe or whatever is trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t know what. Behind him, he can hear children squealing and parents laughing, and then everyone starts singing “Happy Birthday.”

In a year and nine months, it might be his own kid’s first birthday. The image of it flashes before his eyes: A brown-haired baby with bright laughing eyes and a huge smile, chocolate cake smeared all over its face. Amy is crying a little, and Jake is too, and Charles makes them stand on either side of the high chair for a photo. Charles is, of course, bawling.

Jake realizes he’s smiling to himself and bites his lip to stop. He puts his sunglasses back on and turns to Charles, who is watching him expectantly, rocking back on his heels.

“It looks like the stabbing happened out front,” Jake says, wincing a little when Charles’ face falls. “We should start there.”

Later, the father of the birthday boy invites them to the party for cake, and they both politely decline. But when they’re alone again Charles says he knows of a place nearby that has a pork-and-beans cupcake he’s been dying to try and Jake opens his mouth to say yes, of course (even though -- no, absolutely not).

But he thinks about dodging Charles’ comments and questions about babies and biological clocks and fertility windows and he knows he’ll never survive.

“Sorry, bud. I’ve got plans.”

“Sure, okay,” Charles says, voice gone flat and horrible. “Some other time.”

+++

Jake’s standing at the kitchen counter wiping down his badge with Purell when Amy gets home that evening. She raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn’t actually ask what he’s doing.

They have salads for dinner because Amy read an article about fertility superfoods and apparently spinach and kale are the superest. When Jake doesn’t even raise a cursory protest, Amy asks him if he’s feeling okay.

“Yeah, fine,” Jake says, and stuffs a forkful of deep green spinach in his mouth. It tastes chalky and bitter and he swallows it down with grape soda (he’s trying to branch out a little).

Amy tells him about Gary’s latest accidental attempt at a coup among the beat cops -- “I know he doesn’t mean to undermine me, but he really needs to shut the f up about color-coding the weekend rotations” -- and Jake tells her about the not-missing kid from the morning and finding a man bleeding to death under a pinata.

They’re cleaning up together, Amy wiping down counters while Jake gets the dishwasher going, when Amy asks how it’s going with Charles. “He must have been losing it with all of those babies in the vicinity,” she says, and though she’s laughing a little Jake senses that she’s concerned.

“He was fine,” Jake says, and off Amy’s skeptical smirk, adds, “Okay, he was Charles.”

Amy tosses her sponge into the sink and rests a hip against the counter, and he can feel her gaze on the side of his face as he crouches over the dishwasher. He sets it running and then wipes off his hands on a towel and steps over to her. He loops his arms around her waist, tugging her to him, and kisses her, gently at first. When she hums against his lips he opens his mouth, tilts his head just so, and slides his tongue alongside hers. They make out for a while, Amy’s hands curling over his neck and his fingers reaching up under her shirt to stroke over her back.

Then the dishwasher gurgles loudly and they break apart, laughing.

“C’mon,” Jake says, letting go of her waist to grab her hand and pull her toward the bedroom. “I think it’s time for me to put some bludgers in your golden snitch.”

He hears Amy sigh behind him. “That’s not how Quidditch works, Jake.”

+++

Pimento, at least, takes Charles’ mind off of babies. It helps that they’ve gone more than 24 hours without a single child sighting.

Which is why Jake’s glad he’s alone in the main hospital waiting area when a couple emerges from an elevator. They’re young and their eyes are bruised with exhaustion and they both have the shell-shocked look that Jake usually associates with people who have just survived near-death experiences, but there’s a glow about them that he recognizes too. The man is holding a tiny pink bundle in his arms, and the woman keeps peeking over at them both, like she can’t help herself, like she can hardly stand to look anywhere else.

Jake’s heart is beating too-fast, because that will be him -- he’ll be the man with the bundle, the father taking his little girl or little boy home for the first time, and Amy will be right there too, and it’s going to be incredible. 

And when they get home, after they’ve settled in a bit, Charles will bring them so much soup and so many casseroles and they’ll even eat most of it because they won’t have time to shop or cook for themselves. And Charles will take photos and change diapers when they both need a break, and he’ll tell Jake he’s doing great, he’s doing his best, and that’s all any kid needs, after all.

“We can go up and see him now,” Charles says, breaking into his thoughts. Jake jerks and looks away from the new family, just as they disappear out the main hospital doors.

“Huh?”

“Pimento, we can see him,” Charles says. “Are you ready?”

Jake thinks about that for a moment and then grins up at Charles and stands. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jake lays down the ground rules as soon as they walk into the shop.

“No ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mugs,” he says, pointing a finger at Charles. “No ‘Proud Papa’ plates, either.”

Charles’ face falls. “What about-”

“No references to sperm or semen or- or fertility.” Jake counts off on his fingers. “No embryos, no blessed wombs, no miracle of life, no-”

“Fine!” Charles says, frowning and jamming his hands in his trouser pockets.

“I mean it, Charles -- no baby stuff on the pottery!”

It’s a chaotic Saturday afternoon at Paint Me Pretty Pottery, and Jake counts three different kids’ parties gathered around the circular tables that fill the warehouse space. But the owner recognizes them -- she’s a former student of Jake’s mom, and she quickly ushers them to a free counter space in a back corner.

“It’s been a while, boys,” Melinda says, as they take seats on side by side stools.

Charles narrows his eyes at Jake. “Five weeks,” he says, under his breath.

Jake sighs and tells Melinda they’ll take the usual, and she laughs and scuttles back into the chaos of the shop. Kids are shrieking and giggling all over the place, and at a table nearby a group of women are having a wildly inappropriate -- given the potential audiences -- conversation about honeymoon sex while painting what appear to be ceramic bedroom toys. Jake hopes that their pottery is for display purposes only.

It was Jake’s idea to come back here because even though Charles has forgiven him for keeping the baby-making a secret, he’s clearly still harboring some hurt feelings. Besides, they haven’t actually had time until now to hang out, just the two of them (what with all the baby-making and actual police work and stuff), and Jake is honestly excited to finally talk to his best friend about the fact that he’s maybe-probably-definitely going to be a _dad_ soon.

Except, Jake doesn’t know exactly what to say, now that they’re here.

Melinda comes back with a shiny white mug for each of them and a tub filled with paints and brushes and sponges and stencils and tape and other tools of the pottery-painting trade. Charles picks up his mug and raises it to eye level, rotating it with one hand and tracing a thumb along the rim. He’s said before that each piece of pottery speaks to him and tells him what to paint, but Jake is pretty sure every mug in this shop is calling out “DAD” to him right now.

“Remember-” Jake says, plucking a random brush from the tub.

“I know,” Charles hisses.

They work in silence at first, and Jake paints red and blue whirls along the sides and orange and green polka dots along the rim and the base. He’s never been a painter like his mom, but he has a steady hand, and he likes watching the colors take shape over the white porcelain, likes the feel of the brush sliding across the smooth surface.

“Nico asked if he could come today,” Charles says, suddenly.

Jake glances at him, but Charles is focused on his own mug, which he’s holding in such a way that Jake can’t see what he’s painting.

“He could’ve come,” Jake says. He likes Nikolaj -- he’s weird but somehow never quite awkward, just like his dad. He gives great hugs, too.

“I told him this was just for dads today,” Charles says, and Jake’s heart gives a little lurch.

“Charles-”

“You’re his godfather, totally counts,” Charles says.

Jake smiles a little. He puts down his mug so he can riffle through the colors, and chooses a sunny yellow. 

“Do you think-” Jake starts, then stops himself. Charles is quiet beside him. Jake takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “So the thing is, I’m kind of freaking out, buddy. I mean, not a lot, but- yeah.”

“Of course you are. That’s completely normal,” Charles says. His face is lowered close to the mug, and he’s painting with a very small brush. Jake’s hands are shaking, a little.

“Okay, kind of a lot,” Jake says. “Like, not enough to have second thoughts, and I swear, I’m excited about all this. So excited. But I’m really scared too. What if I put the diapers on backwards, or I fall asleep and the baby starts crying and I don’t hear it? What if I feed it bad sushi? What if I forget the baby at a bodega like that time I left Scully in Canada? What if I coach my kid’s soccer team and they lose every game and she hates me? Or he hates me? What if the baby hates Halloween? What-”

He stops when he realizes Charles is laughing.

“‘I’m serious!” Jake says. “What if I’m a shitty parent!”

Of course, the shop has gone weirdly quiet along with his outburst, and Jake feels his ears burning as he ducks his head and picks up his mug again.

Charles is still laughing, but he’s at least trying to smother it a little with a hand over his mouth. When the children have resumed screaming at each other and the women have returned to their sex talk, Charles tuns to Jake fully.

“First, both of us left Scully in Canada. Don’t put that all on yourself, Jakey,” he says. “And second, okay I’m just going to lay it on you: You’re going to screw up. We all do. Once I accidentally tied Nico’s shoes together right before I dropped him off at kindergarten and when he went to run in and hug his teacher he fell right on his face and got a bloody nose, like really bad, blood pouring into his mouth and everything. You know what he said when I begged him to forgive me? ‘That’s okay, Daddy, blood has iron!’”

Jake smiles a little because it’s a good effort, but he shakes his head too. “That’s one time, and Nikolaj-”

“Nikolaj,” Charles says, slowly.

“Nikolaj,” Jake repeats -- he’s never going to get it right, “is a sweet, forgiving kid because you’ve raised him that way. What if my kid holds grudges?”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe your kid will. But the point is, kids are really hard to break, Jake. And you’re going to love this kid so much that nothing else is going to matter, and you are going to be the world to him or her.

“Although,” he adds, “you really shouldn’t give a baby bad sushi. Maybe let Amy handle raw fish, at least for the first couple of years.”

“See!” Jake says, throwing his arms out wide. “That’s what I’m talking about! I can’t rely on Amy to take care of all that stuff. That’s not fair to her.”

“Of course you can,” Charles says. “You’re a team. You’re always going to have backup. If you do forget the baby at the bodega, Amy will remember. And if she accidentally puts raw rattlesnake eggs in the applesauce-”

“Not gonna happen.”

“-then you’ll be there to say, ‘Hey, Ames, maybe we should poach those eggs first,’” Charles finishes with a smug nod.

Jake starts to point out that no one will ever be feeding their baby rattlesnake eggs -- raw or poached -- but then the gist of it all settles over him. That he’s going to make mistakes and it’s going to be okay. That he’s not ever going to be alone with this dad thing. He’ll have Amy -- and he’ll have Charles and Rosa, and Gina and Terry and Holt, and his mom and Amy’s huge family. He’ll even have his dad, which is messed up but also weirdly reassuring.

“Okay,” he says, sitting up a little straighter on his stool. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’ve got this, Jake,” Charles says. “Anyway, you’re going to be in the top ten dads ever, easily. Maybe top five, if you edge out Willie Tanner.”

“You mean Danny Tanner?”

“That loser? No,” Charles says with a puff of scorn. “Willie Tanner, from ALF. He’s my number five. But I think you can take him.”

Jake laughs and picks up his mug and his paintbrush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Any time,” Charles says.

+++

At the end of the afternoon they trade mugs, as per usual.

The mug Jake painted for Charles says “Best Bud No. 2” on one side and “Best Dad No. 1” on the other, and Charles chokes on a sob as he clutches it to his chest.

Jake’s mug from Charles is painted in blue and gray plaid, and in a clear space on one side Charles has written “World’s Greatest Godfather” in all caps. Jake loves it. They hug goodbye, and the mug joins his growing collection in a cabinet over the kitchen sink.

Months later, when Amy is pregnant but they haven’t told anyone yet, Jake happens to glance inside the mug after he’s finished his coffee before leaving for work. There, at the bottom, he notices for the first time that Charles has painted three stick figures: A man with wild curls, a woman with long hair framing her face, and between them a tiny bald child with a huge smile. Printed above them is “World’s Best Family.”

It’s instantly Jake’s favorite mug ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually my original concept for this fic because c'mon, Jake and Charles having regular pottery-painting dates is too much. Then I got stuck on the idea of Jake being besieged by babies and this became chapter 2 instead. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my favorite person Fezzle/Drowninginmyworries for the beta! Also thank you to ExplodingSnapple, who inspired this story, a bit, with a conversation we had after the last episode.
> 
> The title is from Feed the Beast (Bash Brothers).
> 
> I'm about 90% sure there's a part 2 to this story.


End file.
